


When You're Gone

by highlinson



Series: Song Based [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Avril Lavigne - Freeform, Depression, Hope, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Military AU, Sad!Louis, Song Based, Song Inspired, The Best Damn Thing - Album, War, When You're Gone, depressed!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:28:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlinson/pseuds/highlinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Military AU in which Harry has to fight in the Afghanistan war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Avril Lavigne's "When You're Gone" from her album "The Best Damn Thing"
> 
>  
> 
> Official Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0G3_kG5FFfQ&feature=kp  
>  
> 
> Lyrics Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxLbNA6GHVw  
>  
> 
> Lyrics:
> 
> I always needed time on my own  
> I never thought I'd need you there when I cry  
> And the days feel like years when I'm alone  
> And the bed where you lie  
> Is made up on your side
> 
> [Pre-chorus:]  
> When you walk away I count the steps that you take  
> Do you see how much I need you right now?
> 
> [Chorus:]  
> When you're gone  
> The pieces of my heart are missing you  
> When you're gone  
> The face I came to know is missing too  
> When you're gone  
> The words I need to hear to always get me through the day  
> And make it OK  
> I miss you
> 
> I've never felt this way before  
> Everything that I do reminds me of you  
> And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor  
> And they smell just like you,  
> I love the things that you do
> 
> [Pre-chorus]
> 
> [Chorus]
> 
> We were made for each other  
> Out here forever  
> I know we were, yeah, yeah  
> All I ever wanted was for you to know  
> Everything I do, I give my heart and soul  
> I can hardly breathe, I need to feel you here with me, yeah
> 
> [Chorus:]  
> When you're gone  
> The pieces of my heart are missing you  
> When you're gone  
> The face I came to know is missing too  
> When you're gone  
> The words I need to hear will always get me through the day  
> And make it OK  
> I miss you

Louis was sitting on the comfortable stool in front of his grand piano that was standing proudly in the corner of the too huge bedroom. His short fingers were hovering over the keyboard, but he did not let them make a sound just yet. Although he was aching to elicit the sweetest and most melancholic tunes out of the noble instrument, his fingers trembling with anticipation, he knew that he was not ready just yet, that he would not be able to begin without doing what he refused to admit had become routine.

Before his digits could come anywhere near the white and black keys, he turned around, one foot on each side of the stool now, and looked at his bed, eyes unfocusing for a moment as if he was seeing something completely different and far, far away.

Looking back at the actual piece of furniture in front of him, he discovered, as every time, that one side was neatly made, the way he had left it just that morning, looking as clean as always. Next to it, though, was a mess of unwashed sheets, piling up and reaching out to Louis' side, just like the person that used to sleep in them tended to do.

The short male blinked heavily, trying to push both the tears and the memories away, to very little avail, though. It had been six months since the right side of the bed has last been used, and he hadn't changed a thing since then, the sheets still wrinkled everywhere, little crumbles here and there, a faint memory of the once strong manly scent lingering in the sheets and the air around them.

Despite his trying, images of sunny mornings where he would wake up next to the love of his life rushed through Louis' mind, haunting him like his worst nightmare, engraving themselves into every wrinkle of Louis' brain, making it their mission to make this as painful as possible for him.

The memories were happy, of the warmest summer days that had the sun shining high above the two men dancing beneath and of the coldest day of the year one December night where they were curled up beneath three layers of blankets, talking and cuddling until the early hours of the morning, sharing the little warmth they had.

The memories were probably the happiest one could dream to experience, as if out of some love story novel by Nicholas Sparks, having left out the pages filled with tears and heartbreak, being replaced by even more stories telling about their love and luck.

The memories were happy, yes, but he was not, had not been in the past months, not at all.

Slowly, but eventually, he pictured everything like it had been half a year prior: the smell of pancakes always awaiting him when he woke up and the pair of green eyes that would be watching him intently, waking for him to wake up and making him blush at the thought of having been watched while sleeping. With a sting in his heart he recalled the raspy sound of Harry's voice in the morning and how he would kiss him despite his (weak) protests because he thought his morning breath must be disgusting for the younger man, but the curly-haired man just replied that he liked every taste of Louis each and every time without fail.

Piece by piece, the memories came back, clearer than photographs could ever be, as if rewatching his favourite scene of his favourite movie, and there was no going back now. Louis gave up the fight and let his tears free, barely feeling them cascading down his already puffy cheeks.

His sobs echoed through the room, haunted down the hallways of the empty house, and he wished now more than ever for Harry to be there to hold him and dry his tears as he always would. But, then again, if Harry was here, there would be no need to cry.

He damned the day he had watched Harry leave, wished that it would just be scratched from the calendar so their luck and happiness would never have to be forced apart. He cursed how he had been standing there minutes after Harry's bus had vanished at the horizon but he was left here, looking at the few stairs Harry had been standing on half an hour ago.

It took 23 steps for Harry to get to the bus, 23 steps of his enormously large legs to vanish from the doorstep, the country and, eventually, even Louis' life because there was no way they could stay in contact with Harry having enough to do with fighting for his own life.

He got a letter once, stored in the top drawer of his bedside table and splattered with the tears he let fall every evening when he was curled up under the heavy blankets in his bed and read the words he knew by heart over and over again.

He knew that he did not have to spend his time waiting for another letter for Harry had made it clear that it would be too dangerous and would give away his position, but he still felt hope rise in his chest whenever the postman would stop by, although he was aware of the fact that he was being irrational.

Some time later, Louis, whose eyes were more red than their usual blue, eventually stopped crying, but he could not tell how much time has passed even if he had wanted to. It could have been ten minutes or two hours, he did not know and he did not care either.

Since Harry had been gone, time meant nothing to him, he felt like a fish swimming in the water, not knowing where it would take him or if it even was going anywhere. Seconds felt like hours, days like years, every minute that passed without having Harry close, without being in any contact with him, felt like the longest torture.

Finally, he forced his hands to stop trembling and lowered his fingers to the keys. The melody started of quietly at first, shy, but he soon picked up pace and volume. He was playing straight from his shattered heart, missing Harry with every fibre of his being as he was pressing the keys firmly, every note telling another story, describing another part of Harry.

The piece was all in Moll, lending the melody a sad flair, portraying Louis' feelings greatly, since his whole life felt like one of Beethoven's saddest compositions.

Although it was cruelly painful, Louis let himself get lost in the music as well as the memories, letting the vivid images fuel his playing, he was so into the nostalgic, tragic atmosphere of the room he did not even register the tears that were falling in record speed again.

All he could see was Harry's face and what it had looked like when he last saw it, what it had felt like in his shaking hands, how his lips had been pressed against his in a desperate motion to hold on any longer.

The music was only a faint background noise now, his ears were filled with his love's deep, soothing voice promising him all the best, telling him everything was going to be okay.

As Louis started feeling dizzy from all the tears and he was hiccuping, he let the last tones reverberate through the room.

Suddenly, the room was wrapped into a dark, heavy silence, ghosts of the last vibrations of the perfect play Louis had just finished still swinging in the air.

Tiredly, Louis rubbed his eyes with the long sweater he was wearing which was, in fact, Harry's. Just then he remembered how Harry would do exactly this when he was sad, which happened rarely but it did from time to time, and Louis laughed dryly, the sort of laugh people who have lost everything would make from time to time, making him seem either maniacal or pathetic, but he had stopped caring about his appearance long ago, and he was alone anyway.

Exhausted and still crying, Louis made his way back to the bed, stumbling over the pile of clothes lying on the floor and falling right into the mess of pullovers, shirts and trousers. He did not find the strength to get back up just yet, so he simply let himself sink deeper into the heap.

Lying there, he wetted one of Harry's favourite long-armed shirt with his tears but he could not bring himself to care, he just stayed in the slightly uncomfortable position, inhaling Harry's scent that was still present after all this time. The heavy cologne filled his nose and numbed all his other senses, his mind hazy with the manly odour, reminding him of how Harry would talk ages about the different aromas, from spicy to strong and heavy even to slightly flowery.

Somehow, he found himself thinking what Harry would think if he saw the pathetic state he was in right now. Knowing his boyfriend's urge to help people and fix whatever problem there were, Louis supposed that Harry probably would kneel down next to him, his green eyes full of concern and love, mixed with the most honest pity, the only one Louis would ever accept, and stroke Louis' hair as always when he found his boyfriend upset. Louis sobbed even harder at that thought, feeling his love for Harry pour out from his poor, shattered heart, seeming as If it was leaking through his chest.

Just in the position he currently was in, atop his lover's clothes, he fell into a fitful, short sleep, his dreams full of Harry and all the little things he tended to say or do.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke not even an hour later with a startle as the obnoxious ringing of what had to be his phone filled the room.

Groaning, Louis rubbed his puffy, red-rimmed eyes and got up, remembering the last time he did not pick up his phone for a day and his mother rushed here, thinking he had committed suicide.

He had thought about it, of course, but no matter how selfish it sounded, he could not help thinking that this was not what Harry would want him to do with his life. Additionally, Louis waited and hoped still for the day his lover would return.

His legs were weak from sleeping and his whole body ached due to the painful position he had fallen asleep in, so it took him a while to retrieve his phone.

Voice raspy from sleep, he answered it with a simple 'Hello?'

“Mr Tomlinson?”

Louis furrowed his eyebrows as he could not recognise the deep voice from the other end of the line. He nodded until he remembered that the other man could of course not see that so he rolled his aching eyes at himself, and finally replying with a curt 'yes'.

“You are listed here as number one emergency contact for a certain Harry Styles, is that correct?”

At that Louis could feel all the blood escaping from his face. His eyes widened and his guts clenched uncomfortably, knowingly. His voice was now trembling just like the rest of his body as he gave the same answer than before after a break that would be considered impolite under different circumstances.

He did not even have to hear the man say it, he knew somewhere deep inside, but still the man who he suspected to be an officer, said,

“I am very sorry to tell you that Mr Styles fell victim to the war in Afghanistan. He was found dead near the military base, still wearing his dog tag. We ...”

And it made it even worse, made it real, and upon hearing that the rest of his explanation did not get a chance to reach Louis' ears for he had let his phone drop to the floor, the screen going back immediately as it touched the ground.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times without saying anything, looking like a fish out of water. Louis tried to breathe in deeply but the oxygen seemed to get stuck before it could reach his airways, his sight was completely blurred by the hot tears he had started to cry.

His ears were filled with a ringing noise, mixed with the memory of the officer's voice telling him that Harry, his boyfriend, the love of his life, the man he wanted to marry and raise children with, was dead, gone now, for real, with no chance to ever return.

It was too much for Louis, his aching brain could not process what this loss meant. He half expected Harry to rush through the huge doors, exclaiming something funny, his voice filled with love and glee, just like he used to do when he had bought a surprise for Louis.  
But the doors stayed closed, the room silent expect for Louis desperately trying to lead oxygen to his brain, causing loud half gasps to escape his mouth that was hanging wide open. Without even noticing, his small body, which was extremely tense due to the shock he was in, was trembling with heartbreaking sobs.

After what must have been about two hours, Louis finally gave in to the exhaustion that overtook him, his eyes still leaking, and he fell asleep on the exact spot where he had slumped down onto when he had heard the news.

He woke up to someone stroking his fringe out of his face softly, in a manner Harry used to do sometimes in the morning when he grew impatient with waiting for his boyfriend to wake up. Louis he smiled tiredly, still half asleep as he murmured, “Leave me alone, Harry,” his voice soft albeit the raspy tone he got from all the crying.

“Oh, Boo,” someone who was definitely not male, even less Harry, sobbed, and the next thing he knew was that his lungs once again were forced to be out of air due to the extremely tight hug he received.

Finally awake, he cracked his eyes open, taking in the few things visible from the person that still kept a firm grip on him.

“M-Mum?”, he asked confusedly after he had recognised her by her scent and the few strands of hair tickling his face.

When she pulled back and looked at him with incredible pity in her eyes, Louis remembered. It all came back with a flash, like a kaleidoscope of memories, bright and red, burning his eyes and brain and tearing his heart apart at the seams.

His smile fell so fast it must have looked comical, but neither of the two even so mucha s entertained the thought of laughing.

“H-Harry, he's not, can't be, nono, no,” Louis now stammered, earning another hug and a soft kiss from Jay to his temple, that he felt getting wet with what must have been his mother's tears.  
“I'm so, so sorry, Lou,” she said, voice quiet yet intruding the silence Louis so desperately tried to drown in, to escape into.

He did not want to remember, yet he relived every second of the day before, and it was long before he fell asleep on, as he now noticed, his bed - his mother must have carried him the short way here.

He spent the rest of the day crying, curled up in bed with his mother, carefully watching out that she did not touch Harry's side of the bed with so much as her pinky. Jay never left his side and held him even through his short waves of fitful sleep, rubbing his back soothingly and trying her best to distract him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The funeral was on a Saturday, almost a week after Harry's death due to him having to be transported from Afghanistan to the UK. Fortunately, Louis' family had quite a lot of money, enabling him to get his Harry back as soon as possible – although he would never get him back, not really.

It was raining, fitting the mood perfectly, as they all were gathered in front of the altar with the coffin, church being arranged nicely, the main colour a sad greyish blue, one of Harry's favourite, resembling the colour Louis' eyes sometimes turned to in the winter.

The preacher said his words, did his job, and Louis despised him for a second because he knew that Harry in fact meant nothing to him, nothing apart from a good money source, but soon enough the short male let his anger die down and slipped into his usual numbness, seeing no point in bearing a grudge for a man he will most likely never see again.

He was the last one to stand in front of the noble yet simple black coffin, reminding him of his beloved grand piano back at home, and the memory of him playing it while Harry would be humming along brought tears to his eyes again.

Everyone had bid their last goodbyes already, leaving quietly to save Louis a last moment with the man he loved to the moon and back.

After Harry's family murmured their last words and excited the suddenly suffocating room with tears rolling down their faces Louis slowly took tentative steps towards the casket, stopping when he could feel the cold wood pressing into his shins.

He had closed his eyes just when he reached the wooden box, not wanting to take in the form of his dead boyfriend, because it would make it even more real, would make it final, and he was quite confident with the last images of Harry being the ones from that day in May in front of their house.

Still, he opened his eyes as if in slow motion, and gasped as he looked at Harry through the window that was totally clear even above his mouth where there should have been fog, if Harry was breathing.

Louis quickly pushed that thought aside, together with his tears, and he thought that Harry actually looked quite a lot as if he was sleeping, which made it even more painful.

His voice was low as he whispered, “You know, we were made for each other, do you? We were,” he bit back a sob, “we were chosen to be there for each other in whatever situation we, we were bound to help each other, to never leave the other's side!”

The broken, tired man had raised his voice at the last words, not doing anything to stop the tears from falling now as he exclaimed, “So why did you leave? Why did you leave me here, on my own, when you know I can't do anything without you? I can barely breathe without you! You left without a goodbye, but you sure as hell took a lot of things with you, including my heart, and soul, my everything! Couldn't you have given it back before you left? Oh no, you couldn't...”

He was talking quietly again, words pouring out from his heart, his mouth only being a transmitter for his feelings. “I gave you all of these things in exchange for yours, and I promise you, I'll try and protect them with my life. My heart is beating only for you now, although it feels like it's barely beating any more I'll keep it working, keep myself alive for you. I'll wait for a natural way that leads me to you, for I know there will be one, eventually, and that it'll be worth the wait.

I know that even though it feels like hell now, having you back again after awaiting it for a long, long time will be even better than forcing myself to find a way to you now.

I want you to see me again just like I am now, maybe older and with wrinkles and greying hair, but without scars, without bloodstains, no poisons running through my veins.

One day, I'll wake up and find myself next to you, I'll have passed effortlessly and the first thing I'll see is your face, and before that I'll hear your lovely voice I've missed for so long, and it'll be painless, trying to make up for what I felt here without you, though nothing can outweigh the pain and struggling down here. But it'll be okay, we'll be okay, you'll make it okay.

I'll be waiting for you, Harry, trying to enjoy everyday to the fullest and take care of my heart, and of yours, because I feel like they are still connected, and that they always will be. One day, we'll be reunited, and I long for that day with every fibre of my heart even now, but I can wait, I'll be patient just like you always encouraged me to be.”

He bent over the coffin as if to kiss Harry and stopped just above the glass, his own breath now fogging the window and creating a surreal image that made Harry seem alive. He wiped his eyes once again to get rid of his currently blurred vision and get one last look at his love's face, then he said, quieter than anything he had said until now but voice appearing even stronger and full of determination and will, “I hope you'll be waiting too, my love. I miss you.”

**Author's Note:**

> *wipes at tears furiously* nono I didn't cry at all nope
> 
> I should continue my chaptered fanfic but I got inspired oh well
> 
> I hope you liked it :)


End file.
